


Folding In On Itself

by arlenejp



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: M/M, Mycroft Obsessing, Shagging, sex but not explicit, wanking, young man/older man
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-19
Updated: 2018-03-19
Packaged: 2019-03-31 07:38:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13970391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arlenejp/pseuds/arlenejp
Summary: Imagine holding onto your past and your terrible secret? Is that the reason Mycroft can't form a relationship?





	Folding In On Itself

The daylight is dim, occasional showers dripping down, spattering noise on the window. Streetlamps are on casting shadows everywhere. A gloomy day no matter how you see it.

My desk is full of paperwork from my recent trip to Austria, jet lag still with me. But I have to settle in early this morning, a sigh, an oh well, a time to get to it.

If there's one piece of traveling I despise it's coming home, going over all my notes and my financials the next day.  
Today it's particularly hard. The murkiness is throwing shadows around the office. I have the lamps on, coffee at my side and a determination to finish by dinnertime.

* * *

Anthea, my assistant of many years brings in more coffee and a gooey danish and quietly leaves my office. Some point during the afternoon she sneaks a peek in,"Mycroft you haven't eaten since breakfast. It's almost four. Do you want something to eat?" 

          "Not yet. I have a few more items, and then I can honestly say I've caught up with work and go home."

I look over towards the picture hanging on the wall. It's a black and white shot of Sherlock, my younger brother and myself.

          "Almost done, brother mine. And then home and sleep." 

Five minutes later she opens the door again, a large folder in her hands and excitement written on her face.  


          "What now?" barely looking up, sighing deeply, knowing this means more time I have to spend here.  


          "We've got him,"excitement in her speech.

I don't even bother to look up from the last of the financial reports that have to be finished by tomorrow late afternoon.

          " The only man left in Moriarty's network that we haven't been able to capture. He's in London," slamming down the manila folder on the desk. She sits on the edge of the mahogany desk, pointing her finger at the picture clipped to the front. 

          "Look at this, will you? Doesn't he resemble your brother Sherlock? Is there a family tree we don't know about?" almost as a joke.

My head snaps up, then slowly down, down to the picture stapled to the front of the papers on the file.  
My sharp intake of breath, my heart trebles its beat.  


          "Isn't it amazing? The resemblance?"  
Barely able to breathe, can't speak, I nod my head.  


          "Well, I'll leave you to finish up. I'll put McPherson on this case tomorrow morning," picking up the folder, my hand slaps down on it before it rises from the desk. Startled she stares at me, and I have to clear my throat.  


          "No! No! I mean, let me handle this. I'd like to finish up with Moriarty's organization myself if you don't mind," still stiffness in my response to her.  
She's so startled at my sharpness that she stands, turns on her heels and regards me with eyes narrowed, lips pursed.  


          "Whatever you wish Mycroft," leaving the room and me to my memories.

I look up at the portrait on the wall.

          "Sherlock, what has happened? Why is this?" The picture doesn't respond, mocks me. 

The room swims, turns colors as I look down at the fuzzy but clear enough photograph. It's him alright.  
The photo of memories. Franklin Marshall.  
He's dead. He can't be alive. Car accident, cremated. Gone!  
I lean back in my cushioned, leather chair, running my hand over my face. Remembering, back to those days. That first year at university. My mind slips back, further and further back.

=======================================================================

He was Franklin Marshall, a newcomer to the university, from Scotland, his brogue a teasing point for all the boys. He came in mid-term, and upon sighting him, I was startled at the resemblance to my younger brother Sherlock.  
He had the curls, but a reddish, almost orangey. Curls that couldn't and wouldn't be contained. He had the sharp cheekbones, the slimness.  
The hazel eyes that, when he looked at you, knocked you off balance.  
But the similarity ended there.

He was as warm-giving as Sherlock was cold. He blended in whereas Sherlock had stayed out, above it all.

I had one class with him and watched him slyly. He made friends with all, shaking hands, pounding backs. The girls swarmed around him.  
He was the opposite of myself and Sherlock. We kept to our own, letting no one into our circle.

Withdrawn, not knowing what to do I found it easier to study, play chess at the club and most of the time do my best to avoid people.

Someone had told me about a book club that had just formed. Small and informal known as the 'Bookies.' I joined this little band. We were not the drinkers, or carousers, but spent our time reading and writing. Once a week Robert, Harold, Edward, and Karl, and I would meet and take turns reading from a book we had chosen.  
Wine, chips, and sandwiches were our fare. Franklin found our group, to my surprise, he enjoyed our sessions.

What became most upsetting to me, what threw me was my total absorption in this man. Was it only for the fact he shared my brothers' appearance? Or because even though he did, his personality was so contrary to Sherlock? I couldn't care less what the reason.

I had adored my Sherlock. He had been the reason for my everyday existence. Seven years younger than I, my goal was to graduate top in class and acquire a position to earn money enough to keep him in comfort.

I kept close to Franklin, never letting him suspect how much I idolized him. He was never out of my mind and always tried to keep him in view.  
I contrived to find excuses to visit his dorm with the guys, to seek him out on the campus grounds, asking questions about the book we presently were occupied with.

* * *

I developed a routine before my classes. 

Early in the morning swim trunks in hand, my journey was to the exercise room, onto the treadmill then swim laps in the Olympic-size pool in the basement of the building. A hurried shower, dress and I'd grab coffee and muffin and off to classes for the day.

It was there, there in the pool that suddenly changed my life. It may sound plebian, but almost everyone has a moment when their lives take a turn.

* * *

Swimming casually after some very solid laps I hear the door open, and Franklin appears, bathing suit on, a towel draped over one shoulder.

          "Mycroft, good to see you," his body, his form, his-everything. My heart jumps, stops and beats a faster step.

          "I've meant to start a morning regimen with swimming. Love the idea." Sitting on the edge his legs swinging, bringing up a spray.

          "Do you come here every morning?" All I can do is nod yes.

He climbs down into the water, and I move away. Down to the farthest end, the deep end. I don't know why I can't be close to him.  


          "Going deep aren't you?" Is there a double meaning in what he just said? Or am I placing too much into it?  
Either way, his voice sends an explosion through me.

          "Come here and keep me company. Swim alongside me."  
How could I say no?

Me, Mycroft Holmes. Being alone was my comfort zone. The opposite in looks from Sherlock, straight unruly black hair, blue eyes, an undistinguished face which I keep in an unemotional mask.

          "I've just finished, tired and need to clean up for my first class," stupidly not knowing what else to say, climbing out of the pool.

          "Hey, why not join me in the mornings here? Swim together?"  
His spoken word, his dialect, reaches me deep inside me.

          "I'm here at five every morning," my head down, already moving towards the door, is the most I can manage to say. Why did I reveal even that?

          " A deal. I'll meet you here."  
Disaster! Or not? To be with him alone, every morning. To watch him, to hear him.

Mycroft Holmes, you are besotted with this man! Is it the affection you had for your brother that leads to this? Or is it his open personality? I don't care. Whatever the reasoning I feel the pull.

Each time we meet, swimming by his side, my body close to him, the splash of the water on both of us, I fantasize. Fantasize about him, coming on to me, touching me. But- it's not to be. Scared and excited by the prospect. What would I do if he-.

We barely talk, and when we do, it's history, math, the books we are reading. I have the feeling, the mindlessness of our conversations is our link, the only connection to my holding him close in my head.

There are moments when we stop, mid-sentence and our eyes touch, linger with a meaning too deep to explore outright. I'm always the first to look away, to bend my head down, to shiver with anxiety.

During the times we are together with the group I can almost feel the thread connecting us. His glances my way, his fingers staying longer as he hands me a paper or a book. Touching my back easily, without a thought. Or, is there a thought in it?

* * *

This one morning I can't keep up with him in the pool. I have to stop. My body still in the water, leaning against the side, breathing heavy, toweling off my face, he steps up to me. 

          "Are you all right, my man?"

          "Yes, tired. Didn't sleep too well last night. You go and finish. I'll stay here."  
He takes the towel from me, rubbing my hair dry, close, too close, his body a hairs breath from mine.  
The towel goes down to my face and dropping the towel his fingers brush over my lips.  
I stare into those eyes, deep into, and his face closes in.

My lips feel his tongue, and with a murmur deep in me, I open and that tongue inserts. Then his lips to mine, and the hunger deepens, ripens, ready.  
It only lasts seconds, but it's a lifetime to me.  
Hard, so hard I'm bursting.

He breaks away, his fingers on my jaw, holding me, watching me with those eyes.

          "Mycroft, Mycroft. Do you mind?"  
I can't answer, can't, can't. Do I mind? No!

He doesn't need an answer. The very fact that I've not run not pushed him away is his answer. The green towel is on the coping of the pool, which I take in my hand and, jumping out of the pool, put the piece of cloth around me. I make a retreat out of there as quickly as I can.

* * *

Should I attend the Bookies tonight? What will he think if I don't? All through each class, I jump in my resolve between yes and no.

But drawn to him as I am, I have to be there. Have to see him.

* * *

A wall has been delineated around us. We dance in and out but never come close. No touching of hands on this night. Instead, we place the book down or give it to someone else to hand it over.  
I'm sickened. Disheartened. He's sorry for what he did. Revolted, maybe. I'm worthless to him. Too easy.

* * *

After the club and before going to my room for the night I find the cafeteria and grab a couple of biscuits.

Walking down the hall, coming to my room I can see the light under the door. I don't remember leaving this morning without turning it off.

Slowly opening the door, with a bit of fear I see no one. Stepping in the first object that stands out as different is a note. On my bed.

Opening the fold I recognize his writing.

MEET ME AT OAK TREE AT 9

* * *

At the back of the main building of the university, there is a significantly massive old oak. Everyone uses it as a trysting meetup.

* * *

Changing outfits twice I settle on a dark green silk shirt and black trousers. A sweater wrapped around my shoulders I venture out, into the unknown.

* * *

Nine it is. And there he is, sitting down, knees up, arms curled around them.  
As I approach he stands up, pulls both my hands with his to bring me closer to him.  
I wait, I want.

When his lips touch mine I shudder with desire.  
He smiles, "you're shaking. Want more?"  


          "Oh God, yes," my voice a whisper, blushing in my brazenness.

          "Go back to your room. I'll be there in an hour."  
Stepping away, he turns, plants a kiss on my forehead and moves off.

* * *

My room, a mess. I'm so glad I don't share with anyone. I quickly clean it up, throwing clothes into the closet, books stacked neatly, my nervousness visible if anyone was there to witness it.

* * *

The hour comes, I'm sitting on my bed, move to my chair, move back to the bed.  
He's not here, walking to my window, looking out. I know I can't see the front door of my building from my window, but I still peer out. Twenty minutes later and still no Franklin and in despair, I flop on the bed and pick up my book, trying not to punch something.

* * *

There's a soft knock at the door, it opens, and it's him.

          "Sorry to be late. I like early normally."  
Sitting up, not sure what to do, he approaches me, sits down next to me, taking it all in, my books, my desk, now spotless.  


          "Clean place you have, and hello, what's this?"  
He sees the picture of Sherlock sitting on my nightstand, picks it up, peering closely, looking from it to me.

Oh hell, I should have put it away in the drawer.

Staring at it with great intent he finally says," Shit, who is this?"  


          "That's my brother Sherlock."  


          "Damn, I look just like him! Man, how weird is this?"  
The picture still in his hand he gapes at me, mouth open.

          "Yes, you do. It is uncanny really."

His eyes narrow, his brow creased in confusion.

          "Is that why you follow me like a puppy dog? To screw your brother in reality?"

He stands, quickly puts the picture back and edges toward the door.  
My hand out, as if to plead," No, listen to me first. Give me a chance to explain."  
He stops at the door, turns half to me, "I'm waiting."

          "My brother died of a drug overdose three years ago. He was younger than me, and I worshipped him. He was very much a cold fish, the opposite of you."  


          "So I'm supposed to be the substitute for him?"  
Extending my arms, I implore him," Franklin, I want you. I admit at first it was the likeness, but now it's you. You're the one I want, not a copy of him. You."

Pausing, still at the door, one hand on the knob, "Hell, whatever your reasoning, I'm willing to overlook it. I do find you attractive, you know., but it is spooky in some ways"  
Shutting the door, he still stands there, looking at myself and the picture.

Over to the bed, next to me,"put it away someplace. Don't want anyone to get strange thoughts."  
In the drawer of the nightstand. I put my hands between my legs, my head down, not knowing what is to come next.

          "Poor Mycroft. Never did this before have you?"  
I can't tell him I've never been with anyone, man or woman. Too ashamed.

Taking my hands away from my body, he turns me toward him, lowering his lips to mine.

He pushes me down, pulling off his clothing, helping me do the same.  
Our bodies lock. He's over onto my body, the full length of him, rubbing, he moves upward, breath on my cheek, heavy. Expelling a deep shutter and breath he finishes and wipes both of us off, and dresses. A kiss, a long kiss and he's out of my sight.

Never a word to me, a sign of caring. Asking, do I like, do I want? It's his pleasure, and I rejoice in it. As long as he's within my grasp, my sight, my smell.

* * *

At the club or in sight of one another we maintain a distance. But, sometimes a glance, a quick look spurs my desire on.

I envy his ease with people, his laughter ringing out so quickly. He hugs all, kisses the women as if he's been to bed with each.

Each night I wait, and on the nights he walks into my dorm room is a paradise. I learn to give, give my whole self over.

* * *

On the weekends Franklin disappears from the campus. Questioning him, he is evasive, not meeting my eyes.  


          "I have a business I attend to during that time. This part of my life is not yours, not to ask about or think about. If you do it will only anger me. Got it?" almost threatening.

* * *

Those days and evenings I spend either alone or with a girl named Luci. Petite, quiet like me, we roam the campus or head to town to take in a movie or eat out.  
Sometimes we can sit and read together for hours. She never asks anything of me. When I want the occasional closeness, a hug or a kiss she gives willingly. She tries to initiate more, but I gently push her away. Doesn't challenge or inquire.

* * *

We're just a week away from summer break and Franklin informs me he'll not see me until classes begin in the fall.  


          "Please come visit me. We have a great summer house with a lake. My parents wouldn't mind." hanging my head, "and I would love it, for a month, or even a week."  
It angers him, my begging.

* * *

That night he does not enter my room. Does not leave a message. Is he punishing me?  
Anguish attacks me.I throw things around, a kids temper tantrum.

* * *

The afternoon finds me searching for him around the campus, and he's sitting in the library, a stack of books, pencil, and paper in front of him.  
I had written a note and discreetly slip it into his jacket pocket, which is draped over the chair. He still didn't acknowledge me at all even though I know he looked up when I passed by.

* * *

And here he is, in my room this night, my message asking for forgiveness, my giving of my full self-written out for him to see.

* * *

Although I have dreamt of having him invade my body, become the most intimate with me, we had not tried.  
I now ask, hesitant but with full knowledge of what is to come should he say yes.  


          "Will you let me?"  


          "Yes take me fully. I want all of you, want to dream of it over the summer."

The breaching of my anus is hurtful, but I have all of him, the sensation, the intensity, knowing he's taken everything from me. I've surrendered my body, wholly and without reserve.

* * *

It's our last night, our last until the fall.

          "Will you text or write me?"  


          "Mycroft, trust me, I would if I could. My life is complicated, and you would not understand, not like it."  
I would like anything he does, in my naivete, I think.

We part and my journey home and the long wait begins.

* * *

My parents have rented a cottage in the country, a lake to swim in, a large backyard.  
Discovering many of those of my age in the area, I bury my sorrow in drink, dancing and late nights. Avoiding the usual dalliances with the girls, I do latch onto one, Karen, who doesn't mind my occasional bouts of quiet, and doesn't push for more than my friendship.

* * *

It's halfway through the summer, I'm counting down the days until it's back to college, and back to Franklin.

* * *

The phone rings, a disturbing sound always during dinnertime.  
Papa gets up to answer the call and yells into the kitchen where we are sitting and eating, "Mycroft, it's for you."  
Heart pounding, it's him! I know that's impossible, and could be any of the friends from here, but every time it sounds, I dream it's him, just saying hello, telling me he misses me.

* * *

          "Hello?"  


          "Mycroft it's Luci. Oh Mycroft," her sobbing heard clearly.  


          "Mycroft, Franklin, he's- he's dead."  


          "Impossible."  


          "He died in a car accident. Some piece of drunk shit. Hit him head-on."

She takes a breath," his body is going home, burnt beyond recognition," her crying makes her stop for a moment, then, "cremation. Sorry, can't talk more," and hangs up.

* * *

Phone still in my hand, shivering, body wavering, my deep breaths and a cry out of my mouth which I know is heard all the way into the kitchen because Mama comes rushing into me, her arms around me, alarmed.

          "What is wrong Mycroft?"  


          "Friend from school, killed in car accident," breathless, trying to hold all in, "I need to go to my room. Sorry, momma."  
Receiver dropped, dangling, I run into the bathroom, and I gag, my meal pours out.

* * *

Into my room, I throw myself on my bed, my sobs contained into my pillow. My heart tears out, rips away from me.

* * *

          "Mycroft, can I come in, are you all right? she opens the door slightly, peering in, and sitting next to me, rubbing my back as the tears won't stop.  


          "She must have meant a lot to you, "my mom assumes a female, which I don't dispel.  


          "If you need to talk, remember my shoulder is here anytime." After a while, she leaves me to my sorrow.

* * *

Can't talk. Telling momma is not an option. This secret will remain with me for the rest of my life.  
I keep to myself the rest of the summer, although Momma tries to get me out, to be with the friends here.

Finally understanding I need the time and space, and nothing she can do will move me, she leaves me alone.  
My books and music, become my only solace.

* * *

====================================================================================== 

The folder, the picture, still on my desk, bringing me forward in time. Tears rolling down my face, wiping them with my handkerchief.  
It's Franklin. Alive! How?

The phone jangling brings me back to myself.  
Without waiting for Anthea I pick up the receiver, and it's Greg Lestrade, the Detective Inspector.  


          "Have you seen-?" incredulity in his words.

          "Yes, and it's uncanny, the resemblance," staying as calm in my voice as I can.

          "Greg, I'm personally working on this, and it's not just about the similarity between Sherlock and him. I have a special interest in this mission. I would like to be the one to capture the last of the Moriarty cartel"

          "I'll be keeping a watch on him also. But it's your responsibility to handle. If you need assistance, you can call."

          "Thanks, Gregory," and hanging up I push the folder out of sight, sit back, and reflect on my current friendship with Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade.

* * *

The silver-haired tall detective came into my life years earlier. He was a policeman, new with the police force, and he discovered my brother Sherlock, lying in an alley, overdosed.

Taking him up in his arms and carrying him into his private car to the emergency room, seeing my name listed in his phone as a contact he first called my parents who were in Italy at the time.  
It was summer, and I was home by myself when I received the call from him. Taking a cab, I rushed to the hospital to be informed that Sherlock had passed away.  
He was my reason for living. I adored my older brother. Idolized him.

Greg stayed with me, getting me something to eat and drink as I refused to leave the hospital until my parents arrived the next day.

* * *

After that meeting, I would stop at the police station after school, watch the goings on and Greg would discuss particular cases with me. He'd take me out to the movies, treat me to dinners, rugby matches.

Upon graduating and leaving for college I continued to email at first and now and then we spoke on the phone.

* * *

Once I met Franklin everything else was forgotten. And after his death, my summers were spent at an aunts house in a small town way outside of London.

* * *

Upon graduating I had my career to follow and one day seeing an article in the news about the detective I stop at the station to visit him.  
And possibly renew our friendship.

          "Mycroft Holmes, of course, I remember you," he stands, shakes my hand and it feels like it was minutes ago we last saw one another.

          "The years have been good to you, Detective Inspector," standing at his desk, noting how his hair is flecked with grey, giving him a worldly air. 

          "A marriage at too young an age, two girls, and a divorce. Don't consider that as good years, all except my wonderful girls of course. What about you?"  


          " I see we have many events to catch up on," and without hesitating, "If you are not otherwise occupied I'd like to invite you out to dinner tomorrow night?"  


          "I'd love it."

          "My car will pick you up at your home a six, if that suits you."

* * *

The restaurant in question is one of the most expensive in the city. I did not give a thought to his financial circumstances in reserving a table for two until we arrive and are seated.  
Chandeliers, ivory-colored tablecloths, ferns in waist-high tubs, two roses, live, on each table are the adornments in the room. Waiters in black suits and stiff white shirts.

* * *

Greg's face shows his extreme discomfort, but with great aplomb, he shows me how cunning he is. He doesn't object, doesn't stumble.

          "We'll have the Wagyu Beef Steak, potatoes, and green beans, and a bottle of your finest wine that fits this meal, please," to the waiter sporting white gloves.  
His eyes are alight with merriment, mouth curving in a smile, daring me to challenge his choice of a meal.  
And I know he fathoms that I will be paying for his dinner. And the wine.  
I give it right back to him in nodding yes and my mouth twitching in a great smile.

          "Are you aware, Mycroft that I've never been in as grand a place like this?" he moves his head side to side observing, seeing everything.  


          "Yes, my mistake. Next time we'll find a mutual eatery," taking up my water for a sip.

          "I guess we understand that there are many parts of our work that cannot be disclosed to each other."

          " Secrecy is paramount with both of us."

          "What will we be able to discuss with each other? I can imagine you as comfortable at an opera house, or a London stage show, maybe ballet," pausing to stop our conversation as the waiter brings out the wine, and has us taste it. It falls to me to lead Greg in how to properly taste wine. He mimics my movements.  


          "It may come as a surprise to you, Greg. I do love murder mystery and horror movies."  
At which his eyebrows raise, "oh, then that's something we could try for! Oh, wait, I'm assuming you would want us to come together again in person?" His face tipped to one side, inquiring, curious.  


          "Yes, Gregory, why not."  


          "Why not indeed. As long as our schedules can mesh."  


          "How was your university years?" he asks, not going into my dropping of our association. 

          "I did well. Graduated with honors," how could I say more? To me, it was a disaster.

Our dinner plates, having been set before us, we grow silent as we enjoy the excellent food.

* * *

Towards the end, before the dessert arrives, Greg asks, "make any friends there that you still keep in touch with?"

My heart stops. I was able to delete all written involvement with the Bookie Club, so any association with Franklin would is no longer available.  
With a half-hearted smile, "you know my family. We are not prone to easy comradeship," and changing the subject, "do tell me about your children."

* * *

Greg spends a reasonable amount of time giving me details that don't interest me but keeps him animated. It is nice to watch the emotions play over his face.  
Greg has had his share of drink, his eyes glassy, his movements askew but we still order dessert.  
I have the peach cobbler and he the strawberry shortcake.

          "This strawberry shortcake is to die for. Have a taste," and his fork holding a bite-size morsel moves towards my mouth, a wink, licking his lips.  
Placing my hand over his, holding it a split second longer than would be tolerable in a normal situation, I take the fork from him. The cake piece into my mouth, licking my lips, sitting the fork back on the table.

He retreats, backing away from me.  
Was I too forward?

          "Have I done something wrong?" I inquire.

          "No, no. Just-well- let's say it's good, all good."  
I'm taken aback at how his gesture, his wink, his slight flirtation has affected me. How I feel a stirring that has not been with me for many years.

* * *

We continue to stay after our dessert, finishing off the wine.  
Our discussion is mainly about the politics of the day and general talk.  
In the car, I don't know what to say next.  
Greg takes the lead," so, why don't I call you tomorrow and let's see how we can meet again. Is that a good idea? Please be honest with me."

          "I'd very much like to come together again. I did delight in tonight. Only this time let's arrange it, so you feel more at ease in your surroundings." He lets out a huge laugh," oh, Mycroft, I loved every minute of it. And seeking you squirm even made it more pleasurable. I hope that there's a place I can take you to make you squirm again."

I laugh then and know we will solve our scheduling problem.

* * *

It takes much manipulating on both parts to make our schedules mesh together.

* * *

          "Mycroft, one of the movie theaters, The Blackburn is playing the Dracula and Frankenstein movies. The black an white ones. Would you like to go?" this is a phone call I received one afternoon. 

          "I would indeed be interested. My calendar is free the next two nights." 

          "Good. It's a seven showing. Tomorrow night too soon? Will we meet there? " 

          "No, good for tomorrow and let's meet there. It would be best." 

          "I'll pick up the tickets and meet you in the lobby."

* * *

Even though I have the DVD's at my home it is far more beautiful to witness them on the big screen. And to have the company to watch them.

* * *

          "Popcorn, sweets, and pop is the food for this filming," and without asking me he pays for them and I help carry the enormous bag of popcorn, with butter, to our seats.  
The popcorn is between Greg's legs. No other way to balance it. I'm so careful to reach into the bag and not touch any part of Greg's thigh.

Does he sense that? Or is this part of his playing, as he reaches over to take one of the candy boxes sitting by my side, he leisurely strokes my thigh. I inhale, loud enough that I'm sure he's heard. And that is the extent of it.

* * *

The movie over, we leave the theatre, and moving outside, Greg indicates with a nod of his head, "there's a late night pub open right across the street if you want a drink. I know I'm plenty thirsty after all that stuff."  
I agree and we enter the pub.

* * *

Dark, run-down, old, and just a few patrons in at this time of night. The tv is blasting the news. The regulars I imagine.  
Greg takes me up to the wood bar, scratched, and nicked with what could be initials, and orders two glasses of beer from the tap. I have no knowledge of beers in places like this.

* * *

Raising his large glass he says," Cheers my friend, enjoy."  
I clink glasses with him and take a sip, choking on the taste. It's bitter.  


          "Not used to beer. Or at least the kind found in these pubs, the local ones?"  


          "You're right. I'll have to get used to it. I assume it's an acquired taste," and slowly take another sip of it.  


          "I have seen the movies many times, but this was brilliant. It gave me a chance to see the whole scope of them. To watch for the details." 

          "I think that in those days the details were mostly the main characters and nothing to do with the background." 

          "You're right. Also, never sat in a movie theater before." 

          "What? How do you see the cinema then?" his astonishment written on his face. 

          "My parents had a movie theater in the house, and since then I've been to other houses to see private screenings of movies." 

          "Shit! You live in a different world, you honestly do! I'm going to take you to see a big commercial film next." 

          "That would be a pleasant change," but in actuality squirming in my seat. To be with the public, squeezed into a small space? I walk Greg to his car, standing one awkward moment together.  
Hitting me on the shoulder, he steps in, and I lean in as he rolls down the window.  


          "Next time at my house for movies. I have a large collection for us to choose from."  
He winks. Greg truly winked at me and nodded yes, and takes off.  
Standing there, looking long after the car and the man disappears, my car draws up, I sidle in

* * *

It's been raining very hard the last two days, my mood is sour. Gregory pops into my head. Why not? His companionship is always a mood-lifter.

* * *

It's late afternoon and I decide to text him.  


_If you're available tonight, come to my house for dinner and a movie?_

_Ok, you supply the movie and whiskey, I'll supply the food. Thai good?_

_Fine. six all right?_

_Six is good. And no three-piece suit-grin_

* * *

I'm in casual trousers and a blue button-down shirt, waiting for Greg. The time is five and my mobile pings. I'm thinking he's not coming when I see the message, and all comes to a halt.

* * *

_OAK TREE AT 9. YOU KNOW WHO IT IS_

Breath thunderous in my chest, hands dropping the book I was holding, my body shivering.  
Without a seconds thought, my driver called, and giving him directions to the university I instruct him, "don't wait for me," jumping out of the car almost before it stops.

* * *

Stepping out, legs wobbly, I falter, stagger to the tree, to see a figure leaning against it. Him!  
No words, fumbling into his arms, burning lips touching, hot, hungry. All these years!  


          "Follow me," he whispers into my ear.  
Taking my hand, the years falling off, we enter the hall and into an empty dormitory room. I don't question, I don't ask.

* * *

Clothes off, onto the bed.

The starvation of years, the greediness, all washes away in the hours, the fullness of the night.

* * *

My phone has pinged a bunch of times. I don't respond. Life becomes the moment, the touch of him, the look of him.

* * *

Weeks, nights, now become all involved, all-consuming with Franklin.

* * *

Gregory calls many times with me ignoring him, not answering his calls. 

Even his visits to my office I callously throw off his inquiring looks, his unasked questions.

* * *

One early evening the bell rings at my house. Can't be Franklin. He never shows at my doorstep. Opening the door it's Greg, pushing me aside to step in.

          "We have to talk, Mycroft," hands on his hips, a questioning look. 

          "Sorry, Greg. There's nothing to say. I would like you to leave," and turn away from him.  
Grabbing my arm, "no. Not like this. What did I do wrong? Tell me?"  
I step closer to him, knowing my next words will hurt. 

          "Gregory Lestrade, I'm not interested in you, either as a friend or lover."  
My arm shakes his off. I fold my arms, curl my lips as in disgust and turn away. Over my shoulder, "please leave now," and walk off into my library.

I hear the door shut. Slumping down into a chair I inwardly weep.  
It's done, it's over. Franklin is my only one, my addiction, my only mania.

* * *

Our meetings are at his whim. Sporadic. I have no way to call him, no place to visit him.  
We meet when he calls and where he wants. A hotel, the University empty dorm, even a closed furniture store he's broken into.  
The phone rings, I tense, the mobile pings, I jump.  
Ready to be where he wants, when he beckons.  
Always sexual, always clandestine. Always his way.  
I don't question, don't hesitate either.

* * *

There are times I sit at home, tense, moaning with the hatred of myself.  
I wake thinking of him, I go to sleep thinking of him.  
Why am I so weak where he is involved?  
Me, who can sit with a queen, presidents and top officials and never bat an eye, making hard agreements, contracts written coldly. I know in closed circles I'm called the Iceman.

* * *

But not when it comes to Franklin, my deranged fixation.

* * *

_LINCOLN PARK at CAROUSEL AT 8 TONIGHT._

A text from him one evening. A taxi takes me to the destination.  
As usual no discussion, we meet, he pulls me onto the circle of the carousel, his body pushing me into the ornately decorated chair for three.  
His kisses driving me on, not caring where we are.

* * *

Lights suddenly bright from one direction, police bar lights in evidence. Shouting heard through a bullhorn," put up your hands Marshall, you're surrounded."  
Its Greg Lestrade's voice calling him out.  


          "Come out where we can see you, now. We're armed and will shoot."

Franklin grabs my arm, pulling me up, and drags me off the ride into the spotlights.  
Handling me roughly, punching, smacking me, whispering so only I hear, "sorry, love you."  


          "Let him go, Marshall. Don't make matters worse."

Violently pushing me away from him, my falling to the ground trembling, he yells loudly," here take him. He's no use to me now."  
I look back and up to witness Franklin with a gun in hand and hear shots ring out in the night.  
Franklin doubles over, blood spouting from his chest, falling, "Mycroft," the whisper, the agony in that whisper, his body on the ground, next to me.  
Leaning back, touching him, my hand to his face, as the police swarm over.

* * *

          "Mycroft? You? Are you okay? "leaning down to me is Greg, lifting my face, "we got a tip that our man was here but, what were you doing with him?" concern for me.  
Gathering my wits," trying to apprehend him, but he caught me unawares. Thank goodness you came."  
Can't show my agony, my mental state, but my body betrays me. I shake all over.

          "You're going into shock, my friend. Take my arm and let's get you to the hospital. Your face is all bloody."  
Holding Greg's arm, I stand on shaky legs and let myself be dragged into the police car.

          "Greg, you'll be doing me the greatest favor by driving me home. Not the hospital. It's all surface hurt."

          "Are you sure?" he tenderly touches my arms, my face while in the vehicle.  
Nodding, my approval as the car moves, holding myself together. One hand in a tight fist, digging my fingernails into my palm, the one furthest from Gregs look.

* * *

Once home, devastation hits. I fall to my knees at the front door, quickly stand and falter, shuffle into the library, lock the door falling onto the sofa, giving vent to my grief, shaking with sobs, trembling, pounding a fist into the cushions.  
Exhaustion takes me, takes me away into slumber.  
For days on end, I lie in my bed, rocking back and forth.  
My phone pings with texts. Some are from Anthea, I see. I answer that I have a bad cold and will be in the office when I can.

* * *

The phone rings but I let my man, Albert, answer it. He brings me meals but I eat only the barest.  
One day, in my PJs, and in the living room, tv on, not watching, Greg strides in.  


          "I told Albert to let me in without announcing me," scrutinizing my face which I know is pale, a scar under my eye still healing, he asks, bending in towards me,"What is going on? I know that this incident was not that traumatizing to you. You've been in worse situations. So what's the problem?"

* * *

I turn my face up to him and suddenly see the killer of the man I loved.  
Anger, unreasonable outrage, "Get out, get the fuck out and never come back into my life," screaming at him, my spit dripping down my face.  


          "What have I done?" he asks, now incredulous, stepping back, hands out in front of him. Ready to leave, he turns, facing me again, and with his finger, he points at me, "Mycroft, there's something I can't place my finger on, something you're leaving out. Talk, please!" 

          "Get out, you piece of shit," turning my head away. Head down to my chest, to my little island of grief.  
Hearing his footsteps, the door slam I'm back in my cocoon. With my Franklin.

* * *

It's a few more days before I can start my life over, the hole still there, the memories again cropping up.

* * *

Because of my work I do sometimes need to journey to Greg Lestrade's office and today finds me there.  
It's the first time since my outburst at my house. Uptight, stomach clenched.  
We discuss business. His eyes never quite reaching to mine.

* * *

One of his officers knocks and enters with a batch of manila folders.  


          "Go over these once more, and we'll put them away in the case closed bins."  
And, on the top sits Franklins file. My breath stops, I inhale deeply.  
Greg looks at me, awakening dawning on him.

* * *

Pulling out his gun from the holster at his side, "Mycroft Holmes, you are under arrest on suspicion of collaborating with Franklin Marshall."  
Absolutely astounded at this sudden turn of events; I raise my arms.  


          "Why the need for the weapon. I'm not carrying a gun nor going anyplace," and my arms are back at my side.  
Gregory, still holding the pistol at me, suspicious, not grasping any of this, breathing rapidly, "then what were you doing there? How did you know where to find him and why go it alone? No backup."

          "Put the gun down and let me explain," my hands out, pleading.  
Around the desk, over to one side of me, muzzle still pointed, he says,"sit in that chair and put your hands on the arms."  
I comply, and from his desk he takes handcuffs, cuffing my wrist to one arm of the chair all the while the pistol is still out.  
Once done he puts the weapon back and sets himself at the edge of the desk, legs off the floor, arms folded.

* * *

          "Mycroft Holmes, you had best have good justification for this."  


          "A glass of water, please."  
The detective slides off the desk and is out of the office.  
My mouth is dry. I'm shivering. Do I reveal all? And to this man? Returning with a paper cup, handing it to me, he resumes his place sitting on the desk, moving more papers aside. I've had a few seconds to consider my answer. 

          "I'm sorry, but I cannot disclose any information at this moment. It's classified. Needless to say, I had good reason to be there," avoiding his stare.

          "Do you doubt me that much? Is it so impossible for you to take my word that I made an error and met Marshall on my own?"

Half truth. I cannot sit in this setting and express my deepest feelings.

* * *

Lifting off the desk, a deep sigh,"Oh all right. But I don't buy it. Something is not quite kosher here," slipping the key in and unlocking the cuff.  
I take my wrist out, automatically rubbing it with my other hand.

Greg puts the cuffs down, and seems not to want to look at me.  
Without a word, or an acknowledgment I leave.

* * *

I hear nothing from Greg and I do not attempt either at any point after that last encounter.

* * *

I'm in Salzburg Austria months later. I have a villa on a hill, and the view of the mountain is overwhelming.  
One sunset, in particular, takes my breath away. I decide to send a picture off to Anthea.

A few minutes later I receive a text.  


_beautiful picture. Does that mean you're talking to me?_

Strange! What did Anthea mean?  
Checking my phone, I made the mistake of sending the photo to Greg.

What do I do now? I have to answer. Should I say it was an error? Give up on an opportunity to open communication again?  
I have to give this some thought. I text back two days later.  


_that photo was intended for Anthea. But glad it went to you. Will text when I come back to London_

Excited to be back in London, and settled back in my house, I quickly call Gregory to ask him to dinner.

* * *

          " I'd like to see you again. Make it someplace simple. Where I don't have to wear a suit," misgiving in his tone, "er, ah, are you sure about this?"

          "Unwaveringly sure. Five at the Italian place on Remington Road."

* * *

No suit. No suit. But in actuality, that's all I have in my wardrobe except my exercise clothes. I choose a grey jacket and pants, and light blue shirt, no tie.  
My heart skips when I see him, and as he stands to meet me, hand out for a shake.  
I grab it with both hands, and we sit, avoiding eye contact.

* * *

A tightness in the air between us, I begin to let him know of my trip to Austria and to describe the scenery, to try to relax the situation.

          " Someday I'd like to see more of the world, but right now with things the way they are, I can't afford much."

The waiter has come to the table, and we order the food. I order wine, when it arrives I sip it and wait for the meal. There's still tension, and I'm fishing for something to dwell on when someone claps his hand on my shoulder. I look up in total surprise.

          " Mycroft, isn't it? Yep, it is. It's me, Harold. From university? You know, the Bookies club?"

          " Yes, yes," standing and shaking his hand. I'm looking at a heavy-set, bald man in an ill-fitting suit.

          " Jenny, my wife," he points to a short, stocky woman.

Bowing to her she acknowledges me with a nod.  


          " Go to our table, hon. Give me a minute to say hi to an old college buddy, will you?" He takes the extra seat at our table, while she moves away.

          " Gregory this is Harold. We were in a book club at the university."

          " Long time ago. Hey, heard what happened to Franklin. Saw it in the newspapers. So, he faked his death that time years ago. Shrewd guy. What a shame!" I stiffen up, Gregory looks at me, head to one side, with a questioning look.

          " Mycroft and him were real buddy-buddy when in uni, if you get my meaning," winking at Gregory.

          " Well, I have to get back to the wife. Get in touch with me," throwing his card on the table and rising.

* * *

If a hole in the ground opened up right now I would welcome it. The waiter takes that moment to bring our food to the table.

As soon as he leaves, Greg leans forward, and with a snarl," buddy-buddy, huh? How did you keep this out of our records? How," and the next words bite,"How buddy-buddy were you? And what is the truth about that last evening? The evening he really died."

* * *

His napkin gets thrown on the plate, he stomps out of the restaurant. The room spins.

I hold onto the table, get up and taking money out of my wallet, throw it on the table, stagger out, ignoring the waiters calling out and into my car.

* * *

Once at my house, a drink of whiskey poured hastily, and another, and I lose count.

Falling into a stupor on the sofa by the fire. It's some ungodly hour when I wake, groggy, unsteady, and remember.

* * *

Morning and I call Gregory on his cell phone. It goes to voicemail and, _"Please let me tell you what transpired."_ Nothing.

I text that night.

 _Need to reach out. Want to be in contact. Tell you all._ Nothing

Why is my world rocking these last years? Shaking me upside down.

And a phone call from Harold, of all people.

          "Hello, Mycroft. Glad we met up again."

          "Hello Harold."

          "I'm having a small party at my house this weekend, and Robert and Karl will be there. Come and meet them? Will you?"

I feel like turning the invitation down, but I need to escape my head. I agree.

* * *

It's so good to meet all of them after all these years. We gather together in a corner and begin our reminiscing. It gets too much when Robert mentions Franklin.

          "How close were you to him? We all knew there was some romantic entanglement. Did you-?"

          " Robert, that's not a fair question to ask of Mycroft," pushing on Robert with his arm, "come, let's get a drink and have a bite to eat. Excuse us, Mycroft."

Both walk away, leaving me I move over to the piano, sit on the bench, drink in hand, organizing my thoughts, thinking of going home.

* * *

          "Do you play?"

I look up to see a young boy, in his early twenties I assume, blonde hair almost white, twinkling blue eyes. Leaning towards the heavy side at his middle, but his height lets him pull it off.

          "I used to play but probably forgot most of what I learned. Do you?" moving over to give him room. He places his glass on the doily on the piano top and begins a slow tune. I don't know this one.

          "So," stealing glances at me, "what are you doing here, sweet daddy?" his nudging me.

I'm horrified at his presumption and stand up quickly. Moving away from him, he stops playing and follows me as I head down the hall looking for the bathroom.  
He overtakes me, blocks my way with his arm," I'll be waiting for you right here. Come out soon."

The audacity of the young pup! How dare he! Into the bathroom, splashing water on my face, I find he's still there when I step out, leaning against the wall, arms crossed, a straightforward demeanor about him.

          "Is it my uncle Harold you're friends with?

          "Yes," walking in front of him back into the living room, stiff, unyielding to whatever he's getting on with.

* * *

          "Sweet daddy, you are you know. A sweet daddy, I can tell."

Turning to face him,"will you stop this?" with as much venom as I can produce considering we're in a crowd of people.

          "Oh drop the facade. You like me, like what you see. You're as facsinated by me as I am about you," as a smile cracks my face. I can't help it; He's so disarming, so unashamed, so direct.

          "Okay, okay, what do you want, you insufferable pup."

          "Meet me for lunch tomorrow. I like what I see in you. You pretend to be a stuffed shirt, but I bet you can be so, so soft," his finger jabbing at my shirt as he states this.

He takes out his card and writes the name of a restaurant and the time. I take it, looking down and finding his name-Evan.

          "See you then--sweet daddy,' wandering off to join another group. 

* * *

Gay? Yes! But, Mycroft, you like men! You shouldn't be put off by one coming on to you.

But his age! What the heck am I doing even taking his card? Get rid of it, throw it away. Instead it goes into my pocket.

* * *

I manage to find Kevin and Harold and persist in staying for a while longer, all the time wishing I was back home.

* * *

In the car, I take out the card, turn it over and over in my hands. I throw it in the garbage bin in the house, the idea of not making the lunch date foremost in my mind.

* * *

Sitting up, a pillow behind my back, book in hand, I can't concentrate. Evan. Evan. Half my age. What is it he recognizes in me?

* * *

What do I wear to a simple lunch with a lad who would laugh at my three-piece suits?

I settle on my black trousers with a light tan shirt and leave the top two buttons undone.

* * *

I drive myself to the designated restaurant and stepping inside early, I take a table off to one side well to the back of the small cafe.

Evan opens the door, sees me, grins in pleasure, "I wasn't sure you'd come. Now you're here I'm so happy," leaning close," my sweet daddy," sitting diagonally across from me.

Can't help the smile, the deep satisfaction in my stomach. Time this old man enjoyed life. Screw everything.

* * *

The decor here is ancient, old faded pictures of pastoral scenes on the wall, no tablecloths, wood tables with glass covering.

* * *

          "Evan, what do you enjoy doing in your spare time?"  


          "Oh let's cut to the chase, man. I want your body in bed, on the floor, wherever. Are you willing?" the impish, honesty has me by surprise.

          " Straight out there, aren't you?"

          " Hey, I'm not looking long term with you. So don't let that run through your head. A couple of screwings is all. I like older men in my bed occasionally. And you look like you could use loosening up, sweet daddy. So what do you say?"

Pitching back, rocking my seat, my legs crossed, I have to admit to a certain perversity in this.  
Especially when the waiter says, " what will you and your son have for lunch today?"  
Evan laughs, and after our orders are set he places his hand firmly on my thigh, squeezing, "Well?"

          "You've obviously been down this road before," my hand bringing his hand to my crotch, indicating my interest.

          "You're place? Curious to see how you live."  


          "My place is fine."

* * *

Lunch is a mix of eating and flirting. And it's a pleasure letting go. Not wondering what someone might think.  
By the time we leave my body is ready for him. Whatever he wants I will give.

* * *

Evan enters the house and asks for a tour, and I save the bedroom for last.  
I need no response to his intake of breath. My king-sized bed beckons him; he bounces on it.

          "Come here you wicked man," licking his lips, on his knees arching his body, showing off his bulge.  
I'm on my knees when his hands begin to undress me. I unbutton my shirt, "No no, let me. Let me devour your body. Lie down, sweet daddy, and let your puppy dog lick you up."

* * *

He's all over my body, tearing off my clothes, his hands, tongue making me young again.

* * *

Through the late afternoon and into the night I am assailed by new ideas, new feelings. Was I ever aroused so quickly as I am now with him? Yes, in my younger years. But he kept forcing it from me. Wouldn't give up.

* * *

Sleeping until the early morning we awake, locked together, Evan leans in, kissing me, "my sweet daddy."  
I find myself enamored of the phrase now.  
Languidly lying there, I propose an idea.

* * *

          "Evan dear. I have a two-week engagement in Salzburg, Austria. Would you like to join me?"

* * *

Up on his knees, eyes wide, excitement showing.  


          "Wow! Are you fucking with me?"  


          "No, this is an honest request. But-- there are conditions."  


          "Aha, the catch. Do I have to screw anyone else?" as he lies back down, looking at the ceiling.

          "Don't be silly. I have to be working most days and some evenings. Some events you may attend with me, but as my cousin, understand? No 'sweet daddy' during this time. You're on your own to explore, but when I'm available, we're together. We'll have adjoining rooms. Any questions?"  


          "Hell no! Whatever you want, I'm all yours,"rolling back over to peer at me,"wait, do I have to pay for this?"  


          "Well, yes," watching his face drop," by continuing what you did last night," and he lights up again.  
Jumping on me his tongue lazily trailing down, sending me into a shivering mess.

* * *

Evan is very subdued on the plane, flying first class with me. A first for him, I imagine. 

          "Evan, I'm assuming you have been endowed with a large inheritance. But what occupies you most of the time?" 

          "Right now I'm enjoying these years. I'm expected to join my uncle in his firm. Dull, if you were to ask me, but nobody does. So, it's parties, parties," his tongue in my ear, "and men. All kinds," giving off a wicked laugh. 

          "You are a reprobate, you know?" moving up against the window, trying to keep some decorum about us. 

          "Here you go again with the big words. That's what fascinates me about you. A posh man who, I suspect, has many secrets of his own," squeezing my crotch, his hand moving away just as swiftly as it got there," and not willing to share any of it."  


          "A reprobate is a corrupt, sinful person. Of which you are," looking straight ahead I push my hand between his seat and his backside, groping, him lifting slightly. 

          "And what does that make my companion, sitting next to me?" leaning towards me, a nip on my neck.  
Removing my hand, I sit up straight, not answering his question, take a book out and settle in for the trip.

* * *

We arrive in the evening, enjoy a light meal and into our rooms. Unpacked I open our adjoining door to see what my young fellow traveler is up to, I'm met by an Evan immediately climbing onto my front, biting my neck. He's already without clothes.  


          "You keep this up, and you'll give this old man a heart attack."  
Climbing off me, face contrite, " sorry, won't bother you," moving towards his bed.  
This time I see his surprise when I push him forward onto the bed, undressing rapidly, laughing, "your sweet daddy wants you."

* * *

I have conferences the next three days, having to let Evan sightsee on his own, my worrying about him. What is he up to without me? Is he with another man? More than one? I don't see much of him in the evenings either. He eats on his own, but he's always back in his bed to sleep.

* * *

I'm standing at the full-length mirror, dressing for the evening meal, Evan still out. Again!

* * *

In my shorts debating what to wear when my hand moves down to my penis. Feels so satisfying, I take the towel from the bed, spread it on the floor next to the dark purple chair, and slump into it. Push down my shorts, ready to gratify myself, when there before me is Evan. I was too busy to hear him come in.

* * *

          "Ah, my daddy wants to wank without me? Go ahead, let me watch," his face alight with pleasure. 

With him, I've lost all restraint, self-consciousness, and my hand continues.

          "Watch me strip while you play, daddy." His shirt, his pants unzipped, no underwear. He's erect.

I let it all go, snapping up, shaking, twitching. Breath sucked in.

* * *

Extending his hand he lifts me up and into the shower. Water is running, and I'm on my knees filling my mouth with him. Laughter! Haven't laughed, played and joked so much. Almost feel as young as him. Even with, no, especially with Franklin.

* * *

          "I have a lunch meeting to go to tomorrow. You can come, but I expect no shenanigans from you."

* * *

There's six of us, and we're at an outdoor cafe, very casual. The Austrian mountains have a haze over them, casting shadows as the sun peeks in and out of the clouds.

* * *

I had bought two suits for Evan, he looking splendid in the dark grey suit with a pink shirt and white tie.

* * *

Sitting next to me I addressed him to the company as a cousin of mine, showing him the sights of a country he had never visited.  


          "Evan, do you speak German?" the eldest of the men, I would guess in his late sixties asked with a Germanic accent.  


          "No, not a language I learned. But so far this country, the scenery, and its people are spectacular. I love the mountains," gesturing up to the towering crags.

* * *

What people I wonder!

          "Mycroft, you should take a day to drive up to one of the resorts. Maybe go skiing," one of my colleagues says.  


          "I don't ski but, a drive would be good."

I know that Evan is silently giving over to snickering. He can't picture me on skis.

* * *

And wouldn't you know it, Evan has his hand on my thigh. Discreetly, but rubbing up and down.  
I'm going to, no, getting annoyed is not a good thought right now.  
I try to ignore it.

* * *

Lunch is a light affair with different lunch meats, cheeses, bread, and wine.  
Evan is polite and holds a conversation with these gentlemen very well. I discuss specific transactions between our respective countries, leading to an agreement to be signed as soon as possible.

* * *

Thanking the gentlemen for a lovely meal, they pick up the tab, we rise and proceed to our rooms.

* * *

          "Could we go dancing? There's a place we could go without having a problem."  


          "No, cant. If you understand what I mean?"  


          "It's a gay pub Mycroft. Should be no concerns there."  
I don't answer. And, I'm uncomfortable with the supposition that he'd been already. Mycroft, you're jealous!

* * *

          "Tomorrow I'm free. Let's go to a museum, if you're agreeable to it," changing the subject. Gently sighing he agrees.

* * *

At the museum Evans' enthusiasm so amazing. Questions! Always questioning. Have I lost that? The ability to the wonderment of the world?

* * *

To best enjoy the ride into the mountains a hire a local driver who gives us a blow by blow account of what took place here during WWII. He's an older gent but a history buff. And again it finds Evan inquiring about those years.

A few times we stop, getting out to take in the breathtaking view. Evan leans on me, hand in mine.  
I feel uncomfortable knowing the driver, although he sits in the car, can see all that is happening between us.

          "Evan, the driver-" Blocking the rest of the sentence with a hand on my mouth," See, that's what is wrong with you? Too interested in what people think. So what? Let him enjoy or not. This is who we are." And I have to admit deep down that he's right.

* * *

We're coming down from the hills when Evan sits on my lap facing me, my legs between his and plants kisses on me. Trying to move him off, he giggles.

The driver yells back to us,"don't worry about me. I don't have eyes in the back of my head."

That motivates Evan more. He moves to unzip my pants, as I'm trying to stop him. "Come on, sweet daddy, give it to me," the chortling even more so because I try to prevent it. But my swelling belies my moaning. His zipper undone, mine also and as two teenagers we rub against each other, in the car, blind eye to the driver.

* * *

Our breaths calming down, the driver throws a tissue box at us. Our snorting hilarity shared by said man steering the car.

          "See, he didn't give a crap about what we were doing? Maybe even wishing he was in your place." I give him a playful slap.

* * *

Making our way into the hotel as inconspicuously as possible, into our rooms, and we share a shower.

* * *

It's our last morning in Salzburg and lying in bed after a vigorous night of lovemaking Evan gets out and takes swimming trunks out of the drawer. "Where are you going swimming?"  
"There's a pool in the basement here. A big one. Come join me."

Pool! Pool! No! I haven't been near a pool since-.

          "I don't have trunks."  


          "Silly, buy a pair at the store in the lobby. I'll wait for you." 

* * *

As he twists around, he sees me lying on the bed and stops short. His face full of concern, "Mycroft, what's wrong?"  


          "Nothing, nothing. You go swim. I don't want to," muffling my words into my pillow.  
Sitting down on the bed, his hand caressing my face, "You've turned white. Tell me?"

Pushing his hand away, rather harshly, "Please don't be sympathetic towards me. It's not your style."  
Up off the bed and into the bathroom before he can question me further.

          "I'm going," he knocks on the door, speaking from without, "will not stay long. Wait for breakfast with me?"

Knowing I hurt him,"I'll wait."

* * *

I hear the door to the suite close and onto the bed, face down. Since Franklin, I have never visited a pool. Too many flashbacks are recapturing my youth and those times. 

* * *

Evan does not spend too much time at the pool, returning to our room, and I have to apologize to him.

          "Forgive me for the way I acted this morning."  
He nods, accepting without explanation.

          "I'm confessing, though, that I'll miss these days with you."

          "My sweet daddy," embracing me, "come take a shower with me, and let's have some food before we board the plane." 

* * *

We do shower, but breakfast turns into lunch and a hurried taxi to the airport.

* * *

          "Evan--" "Mycroft--," on the plane taxing into Heathrow, and both go to speak at the same time.

          "Let me say it. Our moment in time is over. Am I right in speaking for you also?"

          "Yes, although you've given me memories to last a long time. My sweet daddy." 

          "My sweet child. Thank you."

* * *

At the airport, we gather our luggage, Evan to a taxi, which I pay for, and me to my chauffeured car. 

* * *

I do see Harold and Robert during the next weeks. One time Evan is there, the first time since our departing at the airport.

At the dinner table, he contrives to sit next to me, and there's the hand on my thigh again. I suspect Harold knows, seeing the expression of what? Acceptance? Understanding?

* * *

The dinner conversation veers toward a scandal about two famous two actors, men, displaying affection openly.

          "Can't see what's wrong with it uncle Harold?"

          "I bet you can't you scoundrel you. You'd try anything once, won't you?"  


          "Maybe it's time Uncle?" and I distinctly see both older men stiffen.  


          "Evan, do stop baiting them," I say, annoyed at my former lover.

Evan stands, throwing his napkin on the table,"Oh the hypocrisy of it! You two!", turning to me,"come on Mycroft, let's give it a wank, huh?"

Shocked to hear him come outright with it, I rise, ready to throttle this young ruffian, my fists balled up.

Harold and Robert burst into laughter and Robert says, between laughs,"Go ahead Mycroft, it's okay with us. We know all about you two.

On a sudden dare, I take Evan's hand and follow him up to one of the spare bedrooms.

          "I thought," as we quickly shed clothes, "that this was over."

          "Couldn't help it. My uncle has been shagging Robert for years. And they know of my dalliance with you in Austria."

Kissing every part, tumbling over each other, our hearts beating together, we enjoy the luxury of one more time.

* * *

          "I best get dressed and leave. I have work early tomorrow morning and can't be late for this meeting," dressing, looking at the naked body on the bed. He leers, I throw my head back, shaking it, exasperated, "Evan, please, we can't do this every time we meet."

          "Why not? If either of us is free and horny, why not, sweet daddy?"

God, how I still thrill when he uses that term!

Determined to change the subject, "If your uncle would approve I would offer a position working as an agent for me? Good pay and travel. But-"

Before I can go further he interrupts with a chuckle, "I'm in college now. Studying acting, or at least trying to become a thespian."

          "Yes, I can see you in that profession." 

Saying our goodbyes, I rush to my house, but sleep evades me.

* * *

With the morning light just showing over the city buildings, I dress, go straight to my office. Life settles in, my routine becomes dull, inflexible, again.

* * *

=====================================================================================

Since Mycroft has gone out of my life, I decide not to try to date. I prefer living on my own. I was so hurt over his duplicity.

* * *

Coming home one evening I pick up the mail, and it's mostly junk. A bill for the electric and then-?

What's this- a long white envelope with the return address of Mycroft. Curious.

But hunger calls first. I drop the envelope on the table and in the refrigerator is last nights eat out. It's spaghetti and meatballs.  
I microwave them, cutting the two balls smaller to cook faster and pull out a beer from the refrigerator door. Taking the food into the living room, I sit on the sofa, put my legs on the coffee table, positioning the plate onto my lap.

Staring at the white piece of mail my heart beats a little faster. Should I throw it out, or open and see what's in the envelope?

Grabbing the remote, turning on the tv and flipping around, not finding anything worth watching, I finish my meal.

* * *

The dish sits on the table while I watch the latest news. But my mind and my eye keep switching to the white paper.

Finally, taking a deep breath I reach for the letter and slit it open.

Its a few pages, in Mycroft's perfect penmanship. I begin to read.

          _Greg, I'm sure upon receiving this you are wondering whether to tear it up and not give, excuse the expression, a crap. But, if you do continue, please understand this comes from my heart. I have no other way to express this. You have not allowed me to speak to you. I want to explain and to tell you the truth of Franklin Marshall and myself._

* * *

I throw down the pages in disgust. Taking my dish into the kitchen and as I'm washing it, I ponder. Should I rip it up? Forget about Mycroft? I haven't seen him in months, and I'm assuming he's avoiding me altogether.

* * *

Back into the living room, I pick up the papers and my memory dives back to our first dinner together, and even now I chuckle over it. Mycroft had taken me to a very swank hoity-toity restaurant. When I looked at the menu, I nearly peed in my pants. I couldn't afford even an appetizer let alone an entree. But, I decided to show him up.

I ordered the wagyu beef, the most expensive item on that menu, and when I ordered for the both of us he didn't bat an eye.

I know that was the first time that Mycroft began to understand our social differences. Can I help it if there was a charm about him that drew me?

* * *

Having the feeling that he is gay, I made a gesture that night with the cake and even though he was taken aback I think he understood.

* * *

I can swing either way, but Mycroft? Nah. Women don't interest him at all.

Continuing to read.

* * *

          _What I write now has been stricken from all records. You were right in that aspect. I did that._  


          _I met Franklin Marshall in university. Sherlock had died two years earlier. I fell in love with Franklin. No, let me phrase that differently. I obsessed over him. Besides the look-alike, he was so opposite in disposition. Sex was the all-important driver. He dictated our every move. When, where and how. We met secretly, at least we both thought so. To be open about our relationship would have had us ousted from the university. And our families shamed._

          _But, when informed, during summer break, he had died I was devastated. At the time I had no idea that Franklin had faked his death. And that he had become heavily involved with crime, and had met Moriarty. I kept my feelings hidden and still attended the Bookies club although I wasn't interested in anything anymore._

          _Then, years later you came along, back into my life. Our first 'date' at the restaurant, and you challenging me by ordering the beef. You made me understand that my life was one-sided._

* * *

I place the letter down again, lean back and see it all. I in my ready-made store-bought suit and Mycroft in his bespoke three-piece. I must have looked like his underling.  
And then the movies? What was it we saw? Ah yes, Dracula and Frankenstein. My taking him to a local pub after the show. Slumming it. He did look kind of ridiculously dressed as he was, but, took off his jacket and vest once he saw the patrons.

* * *

Up to get another beer and take a pee, my curiosity now getting the better of me, I pick up the paper and start to read more.

* * *

          _I had begun to imagine a great friendship forming with you. And then that day occurred. When Anthea threw down the folder showing me that Franklin was alive after all. And then a text from him right after(how did he find out I knew he was alive?) asking to meet at the university._

          _Greg, please understand, if you can. I was, what is the right word, bewitched, consumed, addicted to him. Every bone, sinew, tissue pushed me towards him. Again, at his whim, his will, I waited for his texts and ran to him._

          _I couldn't keep our friendship up with the possessiveness this man had over me. And I could not tell you what I was doing. I knew it was wrong. I knew it was doomed._

* * *

Holy shit, Mycroft, what did you think you were doing? I lean back, my hand letting the papers sit on the couch and think about this. Mycroft is a conservative man, given to exactness in his doings. But, Greg, he's a loner, I think to myself. How does one become so taken that they'll go to any lengths-and here I stop in my thinking. 

* * *

Greg Lestrade! How many devastating acts of passion have you seen? How many people killed because of it? Even though I don't get it I can see where Mycroft would be so single-minded, so focused that everything else becomes secondary. His life revolved around this man. And only this man.

* * *

The first time he couldn't say anything because he would admit he was gay, and this time around because he was going against the law by knowing where Marshall was. Shit! Picking up where I had left off.

* * *

          _That night at Lincoln Park I was there, trysting with Franklin. I had no intention of turning him in. No one else was with me. When you arrived, and Franklin saw he was trapped he purposely banged me up, making it seem like I was his prisoner._

* * *

Oh my God, Mycroft! That's why you were so shaken! You realized he- you saw him killed!

* * *

_I understood what he had done, and watched him being gunned down. When you showed up at my house later all I saw in front of me was my lovers killer. At least that's how it appeared to me. I didn't know whether it was your bullet or one of the other policemen. But to me at that time you were the one. And I lashed out._

* * *

And I became the target of your anger, your grief. And when you walked into my office and saw the folder with his picture and I automatically assumed you- oh Mycroft!

I assumed without asking that you and Franklin were-oh Mycroft! And you still couldn't confide in me! What I did to you, my head hanging on my chest.

* * *

I can't read anymore. I can't. Leaving everything sitting I go to the bathroom and wash my face, looking into the mirror. You stupid idiot!

Changing into my pajamas I lay in bed.

* * *

I must have dozed off awhile, but when I wake the first thing to my mind is the letter. I jump up, turn on the light by the sofa, pick up the letter to read.

But first, I need some tea.  
Making the tea, sipping it as I walk back in I begin reading again.

* * *

          _Just when I thought you and I were gaining ground in our friendship you met Harold at the restaurant the night we ate out. And heard more of the story of Franklin and I._

* * *

God dammit! Did I jump to conclusions again?  


And didn't leave any room for Mycroft to explain! What a fucking fool I am! But there's more to this letter.

* * *

          _I have another confession to make and it might disgust you even more. But, I'm willing to take the chance. This is a very recent occurrence._  


          _I attended a party at Harold's house and met someone who took my interest._

* * *

Well, I guess he's saying that's it then. For us.

* * *

          _A young boy, and I mean boy, just into his twenties._

* * *

Mycroft, you ass. Why do you get into these situations?

* * *

          _A twinkle in his eye, a willingness to be with me for awhile. I won't mention his name. Yes, we did sleep together. I took him for two weeks to Austria. Now I know you are thinking terrible thoughts but, he made me feel alive again. Gave me hope for myself. We parted friends. That's all I have to confess._

          _Oh yes, one more thing. One big item of note. I would still love to be your friend, or even more if you still want this broken shell of a man._

          _Thnking of you, Mycroft._

* * *

Staring at the teacup, now empty, I feel what! Empathy for the man. A softness. Do I want to risk another encounter with him? I'm very sleepy at this point, picking up the cup and saucer, dropping it in the sink I decide to try to sleep on it. Sleep does not come easy.

* * *

In the morning I'm at work, still unsure what to do about Mycroft.

Sally, my assistant is in my office,"Last night there was a disturbance at a certain house. Thought you might want to talk to the detectives involved. The neighbors were complaining of loud music at three am."  


          " When the police got there, it was discovered to be the house of a prominent lawyer, Harold Billott. He was absent. The nephew, Evan was hosting the party. They were drinking and most of them naked. All men. Here's the picture of Mr. Billott. We are keeping it out of the press at the moment." 

* * *

And sure enough, it's the Harold I met that day at the restaurant with Mycroft.

* * *

          "Let me handle it first, Sally."

* * *

I immediately call Mycroft, "I need you to get down to the station right now. This is important Mycroft."

* * *

Once in my office, I relate the circumstances of the raid. Mycroft goes to the window, faced away from me.

          "We have to contain this. Leave it to me Greg and I'll quelch all rumors and the press."

"We have the boy here this very moment."  


Mycroft swings around and wide-eyed, "you've held him here?"  


          "Yes, until his uncle can come to claim him."

          "But why? He's an adult."  


          "Mycroft, you should know. He was in his uncle's house."

          "I want to see him, please", stepping away from the window and to the desk.  


          "I read your letter, by the way," head down, afraid to look at him.

          "Then before I see him, I have to tell you. Evan is the boy-"

          "I know, I know. He asked to see you and told us he knew you well and had traveled with you to Austria. I put two and two together," fiddling with a pencil, very ill at ease.

          "Oh Greg. What you must think of me?" my whole body shrugs, defeat laying about me.

Laughing, "My dear friend, if I had a boy like that come on to me, I think I would jump at the chance. Yes, go ahead, look at me like I'm some crazy animal. But- aren't we all. Now go talk to him, and we'll let him go into your custody."

          "Don't you think that's a bit dangerous, considering?" feeling hemmed in, embarrassed at his knowing everything about me.

          "If you want a fling, go ahead. That's not my business. My business is to keep our friendship intact. So, go screw him blind, and call me when you're available," getting to my feet and walking around the desk.  
Mycroft simply enfolds me into his arms, smiling, rushes to the door and out of the office. Yeah, I'm jealous! But, he'll come to me when he's ready. 

* * *

=======================================================================

I feel a rush of relief running through me. How unusual to show such affection as I just did!  
Hugging Greg, holding him in my arms.

* * *

Sally shows me over to where Evan is and unlocks the cell door.

Evan, subdued, to say the least, eyes downcast, comes out, head bowed low, "hello Mycroft. What a mess I'm in. Wait til Uncle Harold finds out."

* * *

I lead him out to my car and once in, I slap his face hard, an exasperated sigh escapes me.  
His hand goes to his cheek, a look of complete surprise on his face.

          "You stupid boy! And that's all I'm going to say to you about this matter. Your uncle will hear of it, but I will make sure all is kept quiet, not for you but your uncle."

His head down, covering his face with his hands.  


          "Oh, do sit up and behave like the adult you're supposed to be," in my best authoritative voice.

Sitting up, hands between his knees he rocks back and forth.

* * *

          "Have you eaten anything?"

          "No, sir, not since last night," still avoiding any eye contact. 

          "I'm taking you for something to eat at my house."

He looks up at me, tilting his head, his lips together, a slow smile creeping across his face, and nudges me with an elbow, "yes sweet daddy, anything you say. You're going to punish me aren't you?"

Shock crosses my face. I never gave anything like that a thought.  


He sees and slumps his shoulders, "I'm sorry. I'm trying to be funny when I shouldn't be."

          "How many men do you play like this?"

          "Mycroft? Why would I? No. There's a certain something about you, an aloofness, an attempt at aloofness that I find endearing. Mentally you keep your distance from people. No, you are my sweet daddy, and sometimes you even let go, become almost childlike. Feeds my ego."

          "You're hard to overcome you know," my hand patting his knee.

* * *

In the kitchen, I hunt around and pick out baloney, cheese, and bread and make both of us a sandwich.

* * *

          "Come into the living room and we'll eat by the fire. These last rainy days have given a chill in the air."

I pour whiskey for us, and we sit in quiet and eat.

* * *

          "Evan, this has to be the-".  
Shaking his head up and down,"I know, the end, right?" Tell me Mycroft. Is there someone else now?" 

          "To be honest it's not your business, but yes, there is." 

          "And I suppose he's closer to your age, right?"

          "Yes, you're right." 

          " Good. I'm happy for you. But, in parting let's agree to something."

And here I'm afraid of what is to come.

          "If it ever comes to pass that one of us wants to renew our intimacy, we can feel free to call. No strings attached if one says no."

Pausing, taking a drink, "I see no harm in that. As long as we don't intrude on the others life."

          "Deal,"and he reaches over to shake hands with me.

* * *

As he does he sidles on his knees to my chair, drink in hand, and taking a sip he leans up and dribbles the liquid on my lips. It runs down my chin.

          "Evan?" tentatively voiced. 

          "Sweet daddy, give me a taste."

He licks my lips, my chin and down to the center of my neck.

          "Hmm," I hum as he plays me.

* * *

Unbuttoning my shirt, another sip and another dribble, this time on my chest. Licking it up, teasing a nipple.

          "Come down here on the carpet, by the fire. One more time, one more time for me to kiss up my daddy." 

Sliding down onto the plush carpet he licks at my belly button after sipping the whiskey and letting the gold liquid into the depth of my button. Trousers unzipped, pulled down around my ankles and I'm subjected to his mouth, tongue, lips and all that it involves.

* * *

Fire burns in me as in the fireplace. Burns high, higher and subsides quickly and as I come down to earth I want to lean up to reciprocate, but he won't let me.

          "That's for the last time. As it should be, my wonderful sweet daddy. Take me to my uncle now and let me face whatever he has for me." 

Pulling me up, as I dress, he changes his thought.

          "No, you stay here. Let me get there on my own. Come to the door and kiss me goodbye." Our kiss, our embrace is painful for both of us. 

* * *

==========================================================================

I resume my quiet life, work consumes me. I travel to America to New York City for two months for conferences.

By myself, I take a boat ride on the Hudson, eat Chinese food in Chinatown and continue to reflect on my personal life all the while I'm sightseeing.

* * *

Back in London, unpacked, work at the office is taken care of I decide it's time to get in touch with Greg.  
I would prefer not alone time and a party in sight on Saturday night is a good reason as any. I usually don't attend these events, but hopefully, this will break the ice for Greg and I.

* * *

I text him.

          _Would you consider being my partner at a social party? No business._

My phone rings, and upon answering Greg's voice is heard, "hey, who'll be there? I know your social contacts, and they can be pretty daunting."

          " Business acquaintances I've met over the years. I've been invited many times to their homes and never went. This would be strictly social."

          "Okay, where and when?"

          "Saturday night. I'll pick you up at six." 

* * *

Stepping into the car I take his hand and squeeze it, "Thank you so much," grateful that he's even talking to me.

          "Can I tease you just a bit?" a broad smile connects with mine.

          "Only if you're up for it to come back at you."

          "Yep, yep, yep," his face turned away from me, but I sense his excitement. 

* * *

At the house in a quiet suburb of London, tastefully filled with eclectic pieces of furniture, we greet our host and hostess.

* * *

I introduce Greg to one man in particular, who's in the entertainment business, a big name producer and he and Greg begin a lively conversation, of which I leave to wander the room, picking up bits and pieces of gossip, not stopping at anyone in particular.

* * *

Dinner is formal, with Greg sitting on my right and a woman by the name of Joyce on my left. We introduce each other only to find out she's from New York City.

After letting her know I just recently visited there, she asked, " Mister Holmes, was this your first trip to New York?"

          " Yes and I loved it. Reminded me of London but, how shall I put it, more decadent. You Americans know how to let it go, as it's said."

She gives out with a hearty laugh.

I estimate she's in her fifties, getting a bit soft in body form, died blonde hair, dressed in expensive clothing.

* * *

Most of our discussion is about plays we've seen and the difference between the New York theatre and the London.

* * *

After dinner, we move to the living room, and Joyce places herself next to me on the couch. I'm frustrated to find she has an interest in me.

Looking around Greg is nowhere to be found.

* * *

          " What is the matter, Mycroft?" distress taking over her voice.  


          "Nothing at all. Would you like a drink?" my eyes looking to the bar.  
Leaning in close to me, almost her whole upper body against me, "yes, a gin and tonic, please."  
Getting up I head to the bar and realize I have no remembrance of what she asked for. 

* * *

At that moment I feel a closeness to me. It's Greg, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

          "What's the matter Mycroft? Afraid I'm that woman who's trying to seduce you?" not even gazing up at him I can tell he thinks it's hilarious.

          "Damn you,Greg! Where have you been? She's been all over me."

          " Well, let's give her something to talk about," and in saying he spins me around and kisses me thoroughly on the mouth. I hear murmurs about the room. And, separating from me, he steps back and touches my cheek with his fingers.

          "Think that will do it? Is that a tease enough?"  


          " Gregory Lestrade, you are hopeless." 

* * *

The rest of the evening Joyce keeps a distance between us. If I walk into a group she's in, she gracefully stays but turns her back to me.

Greg stays close by, sometimes an arm around my waist. Intriguing to me is nobody shuns us.

* * *

After the party Greg sits close to me in the car and curving his head around to face me he asks,"is it okay if I kiss you. I mean a full-on kiss ?"

I don't answer but respond with a kiss. More kisses, feeling tongues, wrapping our arms around each other. Breaths are heavy, full. I break away, dizzy, giddy, wanting, cowardly.

* * *

          " Enough for now," not knowing what else to say or do.

          " Whatever and whenever my dear. I'm here to be with you."

* * *

The car pulls up to Greg's place, and both of us don't move from our seats.

          " Greg," so confused within my head," I'd like, no, I want to-" and I hesitate, not knowing what I want.

          "Mycroft," his hand up to my face, stroking it, "I said whatever and whenever, and I mean it. Don't have to push anything." 

And with that remark, he opens the door and before closing it, "I'll call you and soon," and blows a kiss. Something is holding me back, what I can't surmise.

* * *

I invite Greg to the house for an evening movie and desserts of cake and biscuits and tea. I've discarded my suit in favor of loose-fitting exercise pants and a white pullover shirt.

          "Hey you,"walking in and looking me over, "wow! What a difference! You look human. And cute enough to kiss,"pulling me closer to hug and kiss me.

* * *

The evening starts out fine, the movie is excellent, occasional kisses dot the moments.

* * *

Movie over, dishes washed and put away, Greg leans against me. I push away and go back to the living room. He pulls me down on the couch, getting on top of me. Anxiety hits. I begin to feel closed in. Tight.

          "Greg, no." My no gets ignored. 

His hand on my pants, pulling, yanking, his other under me, digging under my pants, finding my flesh. Growling, pushing, heaving him off me onto the floor. His breath shallow, his expression? One of anger?

          "What the hell is the matter?" 

Heaving himself up he tries to mount me again, and my arms flail out, hitting with force his face, his chest. At first, trying to grab them, to stop the onslaught he gives up, standing.

          "You fucker! You piece of shit! You allow a kid to crawl up your ass but not me? What is with you?" combing his hand through his hair as I lie there, tears in my eyes, scared, he turns away, turns back.

          "Find yourself another baby to play your games. I'm done with you. You lead me on, then--oh, I don't get you."

* * *

Saying that he storms out of the room, and I hear the door slam and the car start.

Spinning around to lie on my stomach, I beat the cushions with my hands. What is wrong with you Mycroft? You desperately want to be with this man. What is wrong? I can't let this go. I have to see him and now.

* * *

Getting up I can't find my car keys. My mind running in circles. Finally, there it is, in my coat pocket.

Out the door and into the car, jittery, not paying attention to much on the road.

* * *

Reaching his apartment, I step out, and I buzz his flat. No answer. It's three in the morning. I call on the phone, no response. I leave a message on the phone.

 _Greg, let me up. If you don't, I'll bang on the door and wake the neighbors._

I get the door as the buzzer goes off letting me in, and head up the stairs, not bothering with the elevator.

* * *

He opens the door, and I push past him into the living room. He's in his pajamas. A small lamp lights the place but more important his face. He's still angry.

          " Greg, I have-"

          "Shut the fuck up! I gather you're here to give me an explanation. None needed. Either you walk into the bedroom or get out," almost shouting.

* * *

Walking, no shuffling ahead of him, head down, I step in, sit on the bed and toe off my shoes and remove my socks. He's turned on a night lamp on the bedside table. Finally looking up at him, I feel a sudden sting on my cheek. He's slapped me!

          "I'm not your Franklin. I'm not your Evan. And whoever else you've fucked over the years."

          "No one else, I swear,"my hand on my stinging cheek, tears rolling down. 

Taking off his bottom clothing he advances on me, pushing me down, and again tugging on my pants.  
As they fall away, I pound on his chest, hitting hard, my head swinging back and forth, my legs pushing him up.  
He grabs my hands, twining his fingers in with mine, pushing my arms over my head. Staring into my face with concern? Is that what I see?

          "Now look, we both know how to fight, been trained in martial arts. If you don't stop, we might hurt one another. I don't know what's going on, but you came here, remember?" fury still there, restrained because of the neighbors hearing, maybe?

His body lowers onto mine, his nakedness against me, I feel it all. Lifting up, without thinking, sheer instinct, I'm exerting force, pushing him away.

He sits back on his launches, towards the foot of the bed.  


          " I'm assuming you understand how to use safe words?"  


          "No," head turned to the side.  


          "Okay. When you say red it means stop, yellow is slow down and green is go"  
Advancing on me again I yell, "get off. Red." and he stops, back off at the foot again.

I take a deep breath and utter the word go.

          "I'm not comfortable with this. Almost feel like I'm rapeing you."

          "No, no, go ahead, pleeaasse," the words ripping out.

* * *

Back on top, he grinds into me, his face close to mine," Shh, relax, relax. Do what you need to do. I'll follow you. Let it out."

The explosion rips through me, shaking me, tearing me up, as he follows my lead. He rolls off, putting his arm around me. Sobs rip through my body, pounding my fists into the bed.

* * *

          "Go ahead, feel it." he whispers into my ear. 

As I calm down my body seems to float, to drift. And I lose it in sleep.

* * *

I wake with a start to find him staring at me.

          "Don't move darling." 

He comes back with a warm, wet flannel, washing me off. 

          "Take a drink of water," which is handed to me, "now, under the covers and to sleep."

          "I need--"

          " You need nothing. Nothing but me beside you and to rest. We'll talk later."

* * *

I wake and it's light out. And Greg is beside me.

We share a few kisses, and he lets me shower first while he makes a late breakfast. We do not speak of last night. That can wait.

* * *

I go home, dress and into the office. Anthea is calm and collected even though I know she's questioning my lateness.

* * *

_Mycroft, come over here after dinner. Talk._

_How about a light repast instead at my place. Okay, six?_

What do I wear? What to make for dinner? What to say? What? What?

* * *

There's leftover chicken, and I make a simple salad with sourdough bread and a white wine.

* * *

How cumbersome, how heavy the atmosphere when he steps through the door. The weight of the unspoken word while sitting at the kitchen table, the food, our conversation. I can't look at him entirely, my glance skips over.

          "Leave the dishes. I'll have the cook clean up in the morning. There's no one here but us now." 

* * *

I pick up both glasses of wine, and the bottle, he's right behind me into the living room. I sit in my favorite recliner chair as he takes the seat across from me.

          " Let's get it over with. What the fuck-sorry- what went on last night? What did I do wrong?" his forehead furrowed, his eyes glistening with wetness.

I'm shocked! What did he do wrong? It shows in my eyes, wide open, surprised, mouth gaping.

          " You? You did nothing improper! Me! It was me!" nibbling on my lower lip.

* * *

Greg sits back and waits.

* * *

I look to the fire glowing between us, stare at it, unseeing. And begin beating my fists on the arms of the chair. Greg is up in his seat, astonished, his eyes now wide open.

          "Greg,"I whisper, "come take me. No matter what I do or say. Just take me."

          "Mycroft, I can't do that. I need to know what's bothering you." 

The bottle of half-filled wine is in my hands and I bring it to my mouth. Greg, quickly standing, takes it from me.

          "Oh no. Not with drinks in you. You're going to be sober no matter what we do."

He puts the bottle on the far table and comes to stand before me, determination now plainly on his face, his stance.

          " I think I get this. Mycroft Holmes, take off your clothes and now."

Staring down at me, his stance wide, his eyes dark. I obey, shaking, licking my lips, a part of me indignant, a part of me aroused, breath coming deep.

          "Into the bedroom and on the bed, face down." 

Clothes on the floor I move up the stairs to my room. He isn't behind me, I can tell.

Removing the duvet covers I lie face down, shaking in my anticipation. Sensing him and feeling him crawl on the bed, he lies on top of me. Everything turns dark. I start to buck, to growl.

          "Mycroft, calm down. It's me. Try to breathe slowly and let your body sink into the mattress," he says quietly, almost a whisper.

          "I'm not taking you from behind. I want you to feel my body, my love. Just feel it." 

Slowly I turn my mind away from all but him, Greg. Moaning into the pillow, he rubs his hand on my cheek.

          "Now, I'm getting off of you. Turn on your back. All I want to do is run my hands over your body." 

Obeying him, he turns to his side, and one hand strokes me, sometimes his hand, sometimes just his fingers.

          "Ah, you're hard now. I'm going to fondle you. Breathe deep and think only of me."

As he touches I rear up, and start to whimper. I catch myself, and in my head, I'm adjusting my perception. This is Greg. I slump back down. Greg senses the change.

          " You're going to lie there, and I'm going to take your body, take you in my mouth. You are mine," his voice leaving no doubts to his commands, but gentle, kind. 

* * *

After it's over after we wash up, we lie there, in an embrace.

* * *

          "I don't know how to explain all of this. It's a feeling that comes over me. As if I'm missing something,"I ruminate," something important."

          " Let's look at it this way. For years you were Franklin's slave. He took you when he wanted and how he wanted. You had no say. Along comes baby Evan and he showed you a soft side. But, Mycroft Holmes, deep down," and here he points to my head with a finger, "deep down you still want to be taken."

          "No, that's not true," turning on my back and looking up at the ceiling, discomforted by his statement.

          "Yes it is. You're so in control of every part of your daily life. You know exactly how to work people, to see through them. But, you, in reality, wants to be dominated again."

          "Why do I fight it, you, then?"

          " Oh, don't you see? You are constantly at war with yourself," sighing deeply. 

          "So, my love, I'll handle it when you fight me. I understand. I know now that you care about me. Is it possible we can now get on with our lives, together?"

Rolling over I top him and with a laugh,"Yes, I want to be with you, always."

* * *

========================================================================

I'm basking in the sun, sitting in a lounge chair, in the Carribean at a hotel, as Greg is getting us drinks. He brings mojitos for both of us and sits next to me, placing them on the little table between us. Rubbing my leg, he sighs!

          " What a life. Thanks for this trip. I sure needed it. What a winter we had in London!"

          " Yes, and I still say you shouldn't have spent what you did on that down comforter for our bed." 

Standing up, looming over me, he sits on the edge of my chair and rubs his hands up and down my chest.

          " My dear, Mycroft, you spend a ton on me all the time. It's the least I could do. And moving into your house, I feel I have to contribute something sometimes. It's almost a year now, and I still feel uncomfortable." 

I raise myself up to protest, his fingers touching my lips.

          " But boy, you have gotten me used to the good life. Including those wonderful, tasty lips of your which I'm going to kiss right now," down to lick my upper lip and then in for a long kiss. 

* * *

A long, long kiss.


End file.
